Juliet Cook and Martin Willitts Jr.
Dear Skeletons, What Would I Do Without You
Don't even get me started on all the skeletons
in my closet. My closet isn't big enough
to hold them all in, unless I remove most of the clothes
and some skeletal limbs with subliminal messaging.
Some might label a few of my skeletons as borderline
personality disorder or downright insane, but
I call them force fields of special powers,
semi-contained inside small bony bodies.
And one of them stepped out of the closet,
they said, "Don't even ask me about my sexuality."
I did not recognize this skeleton as mine.
It was taller than me and it had an attitude.
It needed adjusting. I turned one of the knobs
on the skeleton and it shrunk to normal me-size.
I noticed it wore my Ozzie Osbourne shirt,
and contained parts of partial physics.
I conducted a mental security check until a tiny spider
crawled out of my head and the skeleton picked it
as our leader in the parade of disintegrating skull heads.
A parade float broke its way out of the closet.
These Skeletons Dance the Macabre, Not the Macarena
This phantasm of skeletons evaporates
then grows into another trajectory.
They rocket towards a vacation
at Vlad's castle to dance the Macabre.
A festive time is planned
for all good ghouls and goblins
dressed like aliens or is it the other way around?
Can you tell if the hostess is a skeleton
dressed like an alien or
an alien dressed like a skeleton?
Or is the room filled with invisible life forms
with costumes on? Something whispers
stealthily into her ear, "Imagine an invisible vampire
drinking your blood." Her glass fills up
and it is not Kool Aid. She sips like an asp.
Her tongue knows the secrets no one admits.
Her coach arrives, pulled by ten spiders.
It is the witching hour,
and clocks have skeleton hands
pointing to the exit.
Skeletons parade in a Conga line
waving sheets of their ghostly bodies,
flinging their own fingers up high
into the sky to create shooting stars.
Sometimes those stars fall back down.
Other times, the new stars float peacefully,
evolve into glowing macaroons. Treats for
the flying spiders as they try on the latest high heels.
Wednesday Addams put an ad in Tinder
Must be tall, dark, mysterious
and love to play with sharks.
Must brood intensely
and must see the tragedy in life.
I love it when a man's skin crawls.
If you howl at the full moon,
it is even better. Romantic strolls
in the graveyard are welcomed,
but cannot bring crosses or garlic.
You can bring your dance moves though
and we can create our own gothic
dancing competition underneath
the foreboding stars.
No frat boys allowed.
No sorority chicks either.
No businessman casual socks.
Knee highs with black stripes preferred.
Black hair preferred. Blood red,
vampire red, or burgundy are also appreciated.
Did you know that blood looks purple
before it turns red and comes out?
Knock knock who's there?
A new mixed drink made out of purple blood
with a shot of dark humor
in a little skull shaped glass.
My skull has pigtails.
Juliet Cook is brimming with black, grey, silver, purple, and dark red explosions. She is drawn to poetry, abstract visual art, and other forms of expression. Her poetry has appeared in a peculiar multitude of literary publications and you can find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.
Martin Willitts Jr. lives in Syracuse, New York. He has won numerous awards and prizes for poetry. He has 26 chapbooks including two national contest winners, and 20 full-length collections including two national contest winners